Everything not saved will be lost

There are a billion complex reasons behind your simplicity; we live out each our own ellipsis. A calaca swallowed by snakeskin that shapeshifts into taped fists posing makeshift, save chance face slips for the snapshot front page print. Clamber up the monkey-bars of DNA strands, hike the new worn ladder in her tights, mouth caressed by black widow legs on this stratosphere sized spider’s web criss-crossing chaos plot looped by connecting threads. Silken silver absent lining, holes to let the light draw in swing across a myriad of arachnid-men. How sad; my role models were all spandex-clad. Grappling in squared circles, simpler apartheid morals. Portly plumber boys easily controlled by pushing the right buttons and waggling joysticks, little changes still scared of blank pages and expectations, just a little less rewarding. No high score counter for the unending inadvertence, the wear and tear of lingering, these zoetropic ruminations, and their resulting damage control.

Samuel Kendall